


2:54am

by winchesterfiesta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Smut, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5119013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesterfiesta/pseuds/winchesterfiesta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You find yourself awake early in the morning and decide to wake Dean up too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2:54am

The clock said 2:54am but your body had other ideas. Tossing, turning, none of it was working since you’d woken up; there was only  _one_ thing you wanted and he lay right next to you. Sleeping.

Dean’s snores were soft, fairly regular, the rise and fall of his chest and the smile that curved the corner of his lips was a testament of his content with this state. Since you’d woken up you’d found yourself in your own  _state_ of sorts; you wanted him. What you were dreaming about escaped you, but waking up with wet panties and a twisting desire in the pit of your stomach made you think it’d been sexy.

Splodges of freckles dot over the bridge of his nose and across the sweet peak of his cheekbones. His muscle tense reflexively under sun-kissed skin. The light of the hallway streaks through into the bedroom, yellow tinged candescence exposes him.

Running a finger over his bicep, you glance up at him for any sign of reaction. Besides a puff of air from pursed lips, there is none.

“Dean,” You croon, skimming your lips softly over his neck. Frustratingly he remains asleep, although he does tense somewhat as your lips brush over his pulse point. Grinning, you trail your fingers over his bare chest. The firm pectoral muscles are accompanied by a softer stomach, one that you admire vehemently; each time he announces his plans to join the gym to tone up you convince him otherwise.  

“Mmf,” The indistinct grunt comes from the back of his throat. He stiffens as cold fingertips slide past his navel and along his hips, thumb caressing the protruding bone. The slight bulge in his boxers is a dead giveaway, it naturally forms while he’s asleep but it’s much more prominent than before.

You breathe warm against his neck, “Baby, wake up.”

When your eyes flutter upwards, only a few moments later, you find moss coloured ones gazing back at you. They glint with confusion for a second, his eyebrows knotting.

“Everything alright?”

You nod, “I just woke up and I really wanted you,” You bite your lip in an effort to be suggestive, “I couldn’t even get back to sleep, that’s how bad it was. You’re just so beautiful when you sleep and you got home late last night so we couldn’t catch up and-”

“Knew I hit the jackpot,” He chuckles, capturing your chin between his thumb and forefinger, kissing you with enthusiasm, “You need me that bad baby girl?”

“Yes,” You whine into his mouth, it’s absorbed by the plumpness of his lips and the smooth of his kiss. The morning breath taste is negligible in the face of the divine press of them against yours. He sucks at your lower lip, nipping harshly. Peppering sloppy kisses over your neck, he revels in the sweet moans that fall flippantly from your parted lips.

He chuckles, lifting you from the reverie-like haze that swelled and blurred the edges of reality. Your stomach prickles heat, keen in its demands for satisfaction.

Lips dancing along his collarbones, sucking at opportune patches of skin that taste faintly of salt-sweat and aftershave. It lingers on your tastebuds as you sweep your tongue across the marked patches, soothing them with the antidote to the sting of your bites. He grunts, hips rolling forward and tented boxes pressing insistently against your thigh, meeting your mouth with refined ardour.

“How do you want me Y/N? You ridin’ me or you want to be on top?” His eyes glow with mischief, both ideas resonating within him and drawing similar responses of lust.

You consider it briefly, “I want to ride you.”

The grin that spreads across his face is impossibly wide; the corner of his eyes crinkle with the proof of age. Climbing deftly on top of his lap, you allow him to relax against the pillow before crashing your lips to his. As fast as you think you’re going, if you take a minute to focus you notice how lazy every movement is; the urgent kisses may lack in roughness but they make up for it in sentimentality. Sighing contentedly into his mouth, you’d all but forgotten about the ache in your core until his hands slide down your back.

Tangling of lips soon increases in passion, calluses pad beautifully over your hips. He tugs the cotton of your flimsy t-shirt over your head, eyes swarming your body with reinforced lust brimming in his eyes; in all honesty he looks slightly overwhelmed, as if you at 2am – 3am now - bed hair and all is a sight he’s honoured to behold.

“So beautiful,” He husks against your lips, tongue swiping and delving inside of your mouth. The rest of his praise comes out muffled and you’re too lost in the delicious feel of his hands on your breasts to listen.

Flushing a crimson colour, you’re grateful that he can’t see behind lidded eyes. Arousal sparks warm in your stomach as his thumbs roll over your nipples, smirking into the kiss as they harden beneath his fingertips. Adorning them with a playful squeeze, he simultaneously bites on your lower lip.

You yelp, “Asshole.”

It’s more a sound of pleasure than indignation. He chuckles, releasing your mouth reluctantly so that he can eye you once more. He seemingly takes pride in the sweep, gaze pausing every so often to admire each inch of skin. You can feel yourself turn pink with embarrassment.

Luckily the lighting in the room isn’t sufficient. You press your hands against his chest, not even having to apply force for him to fulfil your request. He’s a sight for sore eyes beneath you, chapped lips exaggeratedly swollen by yearning kisses, chest somehow more rigid than before and jaw set in a tighter line. You have to take a breath, almost overwhelmed by his beauty.

“You just gonna sit there and stare?” He teases, propping himself up slightly on his elbows.

Tutting, you tap them, “Lie back down.”

He does, feigning a sigh but signing it off with a chuckle. You almost get lost in admiring him once more, only pulled from your daze by the grip of his hands on your hips to steady you. He grins, clearly intending to voice something but you talk before he can.

“Can’t blame a girl for looking right?” You giggle, fingers skirting over his stomach and down to the waistband of his boxers.

He blatantly wants to fidget, the slight twitch as he sucks in a breath is all the evidence you need to prove he’s bursting at the seams. You won’t keep him waiting long, this isn’t some elaborate game of teasing; it’s pure lust that’s awakened you both at this hour. Your lust.

You twist your hips to enable him to slide off your pyjama pants. They bunch around your ankles, you hoist yourself to pull them off and you’re met by the roll of his hips and the bulge of his cock pressing firmly against your centre. You moan, holding onto his shoulders tightly and using the moment as an excuse to bring your lips together. They’re cemented in an instant, stuck together in a smash of wanton need.

“Love you,” You whisper, meeting the calculated grind of his hips against your core. The pressure is enough to set your heart aflutter, sending the coarse waves of warmth through your nerve endings to spark them alight.

Between moans he manages, “Love you too.”

Two strips of fabric are all that keeps you apart, two that can be moved with hurried movements. With a tug of his boxers his cock is exposed, springing against his stomach with pre-cum dripping along the side. It looks exquisite, begging to be licked. Dean distracts you with the yank of your panties, leaving your heated core exposed to the cold air. You squirm.

_Fuck._

He grips his cock in his hand, teasingly brushing it against your folds. The sparks that jolt are enough to stir you into action, holding your hands on his hips to steady yourself. His own lie atop of yours, thumb tracing circles on your knuckles. You feel safe, as odd as that sounds. You’re safe here.

Sinking down onto his cock, you can’t prevent the toe curl or the sweet mewl that has you throwing your head back. It’s indescribable, the feeling of being so full of him. The contorted look on his face speaks for him. He moans loudly, mingling it with your name and trying to regain some form of self-control. He finds it, eyes glancing up to meet yours and a sweet smile hanging from his lips.

“Baby,” He grunts softly, caressing the sides of your hips. It’s not an urging sound, not one telling you to hurry up. It’s one of utter bliss.

You beam your agreement. Rolling your hips, you’re in awe at the feeling of euphoria that melts all your lethargy. It takes a few moments for you to establish a pace, the careful roll is amply followed by his thumb pressing against your clit. The pace is slow. There’s no need for it to be fast, this is lazy sex at its most refined. Body humming, you mewl as his thumb digs more rigidly into your clit, seeking it out to apply more pressure.

“Wish we could just stay like this,” You breathe, momentarily empty but coming up full when you envelope him completely again. Your walls are snug against him, hugging his cock for all its worth. It feels fucking amazing.

His grunts are guttural, accentuated by his paused gasps for breath. Pleasure isn’t surging, this isn’t any old rough fast sex; it builds gradually in your stomach, with every buck of your hips and encircle of his thumb you unstick a little more. It’s pleasant, normally sex is so rushed between hunts, between running this place or that place. It’s nice to indulge.

Free hand steadying you, his digits focus on that bundle of nerves. His eyes meet yours. Smirk spreading across his face, you cry his name aloud when the tip of his cock meets that spot deep inside of you.

“Fuck,” You whine, your pace quickening so as to encourage his hips to align with yours at that angle once more, “So good.”

Hands splaying across his chest, you drag your nails lightly over the expanse. Small marks are traced in your wake, nails digging deeper as you try to cinch yourself to reality when the pressure inside of you threatens to burst. His free hand meets yours, bringing it into his own and allowing you to secure them in his palm. He doesn’t wince at the indents, he grunts at the gratification of each ministration of yours.

“M’close,” He tells you, words slurring together in the face of his impending orgasm.

You nod, bending so as to press his lips to yours. The pleasure swells and expands, consuming at every inch within an instant.  _Shit, Dean._ One more movement and consuming pleasure spurts through you, his cock hitting your spot dead on and with no mercy. His thumb is hard on your clit.

Like a balloon you burst, too much pressure on you. Rhythm is lost in favour of desperate euphoria, chest expanding to allow for the scream that comes freely.  _Oh fuck._

Walls clenching and tightening, it’s with a hearty rasp that Dean follows suit. His cock swells inside of you, hitting your spot dead on once more before he’s cuming hard. It adds to the heat that licks at every fibre of your being, hot and warm and sticky. Your heart palpitates on your chest and you’re fucking writhing slightly, overcome with the joy that circumvents your body and prevents coherent reason or thought.

Dean’s arms cradle you, his own hands digging into your flesh as his head tilts backwards. Your lips have long been separated, needy inhales of oxygen and gasps of each other’s names had been higher on the agenda.

Your legs are practically jelly, stomach also turned to mush. Every piece of your body seems to flail uselessly by the time you come back down. Even your heart still sings in your chest, damp skin meeting his as you collapse, sated, upon his chest. His cock slips out of you in your movement, leaving you empty. That doesn’t go without a small whine.

Taking a deep breath he speaks, “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

“Me too,” You glance briefly to your right, frowning at the clock which says 3:29. He notices, smoothing a stand of hair behind your ear.

“We don’t have to be up early tomorrow, remember? We’re home baby,” He chuckles, approving the view of your bedroom –  _your_ bedroom – before returning his gaze to you. His smile is infectious.

“We’re home,” You return, a twang pulling your heart back to its regular beat. You’re home.  

It’s not long before you succumb to sleep. There’s little that needs to be said, you’re both content with one another’s body held close. Sure, there’s a gap in the curtain streaming light in, maybe it’ll wake you up when the sun rises. Maybe that’ll be when your body has recovered enough for round two.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr! :) please leave comments and let me know what you think!


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